Sunday, June 22, 2014

So you’re a four-armed space alien with a talent for juggling and making people laugh. What is your obvious carreer choice? Why, join the Army, of course! At least that’s what Cosmo Niditch’s father thinks. Cosmo comes from a long line of famous generals and military heroes, and his dad wants him to follow in the family tradition. But Cosmo has other ideas; he wants to join the circus and be a clown.

Viper Comics’s graphic novel SPACE CIRCUS tells the story of young Cosmo’s adventures as he runs away to join an interplanetary circus. At first he isn’t taken seriously as a clown; he’s given a job washing dishes in the circus’s kitchen. But he soon finds an opportunity to prove himself. The circus is facing some hard times, and the owner is considering closing it down, unless he can find a really big act to pull in the crowds; an act like the legendary Flying Berrendo Brothers, a troupe of acrobatic clowns from a distant planet called Earth.

Cosmo resolves to find the Berrendo Brothers, and so accompanied by his friend Rollo he travels to Earth . There he meets new friends, like the boastful dwarf Moe, and picks up a couple of enemies in the form of two obsessive government agents looking for illegal aliens.

Can Cosmo find the Berrendos, save his friends and the circus? Let me tell you, it will take a lot of juggling.

The story is light and funny and the artwork by Ivan Escalante is wacky and appealing.. It’s drawn in a bigfoot style that lends itself well to slapstick. The writing by Eric Hutchins and Matt Anderson, based on a story by Richard Rothstein and Stanley Resnicoff, is a little uneven. Some of the plot developments and trasistions between scenes are a bit abrupt; and I could see this as an animated movie.. I would have liked to see more involvement by the trapeze artist Ariel, who here comes off as little more than a plot device.The credits say that this comic was based on a screenplay, and it could be that these flaws are the result of a larger story being condensed into a graphic novel. Still, there are some funny bits in the comic, such as the visit to the Clown School in Florida, or the climactic battle at Area 57 between the Men in Black and Cosmo’s circus friends.

And yes, at it’s core, this is a story about Following Your Dreams. Which is not a bad thing.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

In his dedication at the beginning of Elric of Melniboné,
Michael Moorcock acknowledges thanks to Poul Anderson for his Three Hearts
and Three Lions. As we saw in our look at that book, Anderson used the
theme of Law vs. Chaos, which Moorcock echoed in his Eternal Champion stories;
but it seems to me that there is another thematic link. Anderson also liked to
use the theme of a hero compelled to act against his deepest desires because of
honor and duty; and Elric has found himself in just such a position.

Betrayed by his cousin, Prince Yyrkoom, Elric has escaped certain death
through the aid of the powerful water elementals who once served his father.
But Elric’s triumph is short-lived as Yyrkoom escapes, taking his sister,
Elric’s lover Cymoril, with him.

In desperation, Elric turns to his family’s ancient lorebooks and summons
Aricoh, the Lord of Chaos, one of the Higher Gods his ancestors once served – a
feat of sorcery which even Yyrkoom has been unable to perform. (Then again,
Yyrkoom doesn’t really come off as bright enough to remember how many consonants
are in his own name),

In exchange for Elric’s vow of fealty, Aricoh tells Elric where Yyrkoom may
be found and how to reach him. Elric doesn’t like submitting himself to the
will of Chaos; Arioch represents his people’s dark past which he has been trying
to reform. But what choice does he have?

His choices are going to get even worse.

Yyrkoom has holed up in a grubby little city straddling a river between two
backwater little kingdoms. It’s out of the way, and no one pays much attention
to it. This latter fact is helped by the Mirror of Memory, a magical artifact
Yyrkoom has acquired. It’s a huge mirror which steals the memories of any
being, man or beast, who gazes into it. He has had the mirror mounted on tall
pillars so that anyone sailing into the city’s harbor has to look at it. In
this way Yyrkoom has kept his location a secret and has also been accumulating a
navy comprised of seized merchant ships and their amnesiac crews, retrained to
serve him; which he intends to sail against the Dragon Isle of Melniboné. And
since Elric’s fleets are scattered all over the world searching for him, the
city of Imrryr, Melniboné’s capitol, will be defenseless. Insert maniacal
laugh.

And why shouldn’t he laugh? Just this morning he has succeeded in raising a
demon who showed him how to reach the dimensional plane where lies his greatest
prize: Sormbringer and Mournblade, the twin Black Swords of Chaos once wielded
by the Lords of Melniboné in millennia past. With those two swords, no one will
be able to stop him! Mwah hah ha!

Yes, he’s a bit unhinged by this point. Hanging around demons will do that
to a guy. His sister tells him he’s mad, but what does a girl know. She also
tells him that Elric will come to rescue her.

Cymoril strikes me as something of a disappointing character. She’s Elric’s
love, but we see precious little of her; and most of her time on-stage is spent
passively moping and waiting to be rescued. Now granted, this is the Pulp
Fantasy genre, but Dejah Thoris had a lot more gumption than this girl.

But she is right about Elric; he is outside the city gates at this moment
with an army. Arioch has warned him about the Magic Mirror, and so instead of
approaching the city by sea, he sailed his ship across the land. (It’s a magic
ship, okay?) Now Elric has summoned Flame Elementals to set fire to the
city.

Yyrkoom orders the Mirror to be turned to face the attackers. This will
affect his own forces as well, but he doesn’t care; they’re expendable anyway.
Elric is prepared for this possibility as well. He has had the helms of his
soldiers outfitted with opaque shields to protect them from the Mirror’s
effects, and he has brought along a special group of auxiliaries, veteran
soldiers who had been disabled in battle. These were mentioned earlier, but
Moorcock was coy about the nature of their disability. The astute reader has
probably guessed it, though; these men are blind. As soon as Elric sees the
Mirror beginning to rotate in their direction, he orders his men to pull down
their visors and fall back to let the sightless troops do the fighting.

Yyrkoom has one last trick up his sleeve. He sends a minion up to the Magic
Mirror to destroy it. As the Mirror breaks, it releases all the stored up
memories, overwhelming everyone in the immediate vicinity. Only Elric’s
tremendous strength of will enables him to keep his own sanity. Most of the men
of both armies die from the psychic shock, and most of the remainder are driven
mad.

Elric’s friend, Dyvin Tvar is among the handful of survivors, and together
they proceed to Yyrkoon’s dwelling. They find Cymoril, but she is in a bad
state. Yyrkoom has placed an enchantment of eternal sleep upon her. Through
strength of will she has stayed awake long enough to warn Elric that her brother
has fled through the Shade Gate to the otherworldly plane in which the Swords of
Chaos have been secreted. Then she klunks out.

This puts Elirc in a worse position than ever. Only Yyrkoon can release
Cymoril from the spell. But how can he follow the traitorous creep? Arioch
again insinuates himself into the picture to give Elric more advice. The Lord
of Chaos has kept the Shade Gate open so that Elric can also access the other
plane; and he tells Elric that he must find the two rune swords of his ancestors
before his cousin does. If Yyrkoom acquires the swords, he will truly be
invincible and Melniboné will fall before him.

Once again, Elric has no choice. He tells Dyvin Tvar to take Cymoril back
home. He will follow Yyrkoon, and return when and if he can.

The world beyond the Shade Gate is a darksome, lifeless place, demolished
long ago by a titanic battle between the Lords of Order and the Lords of Chaos.
Elric wonders if this place is underground in an enormous cavern -- for he can
see no sky, only darkness – or if he has actually gone far into the future after
the stars have gone cold. It doesn’t really matter which.

The plane is not uninhabited, though. Elric meets a bowman clad in red
calling himself Rackhir. He is one of the Warrior Priests of the distant land
of Phum and until fairly recently he served the Lords of Chaos. But when he
turned against them, they exiled him to this dreary place. The two men hit it
off, (Elric being careful not to mention his current patron), and Elric promises
to bring Rackhir back to their own world with him if he gets the chance.

It’s kind of late in the story for Moorcock to be introducing a new sidekick,
but that’s essentially what Rackhir becomes; he accompanies Elric in many of the
later Elric stories. And I have to say, he makes a better sidekick than Dyvin
Tvar. Sorry, Tvar, you’re just too somber and Elric is a gloom twinkie to begin
with.

There is a city nearby, inhabited by people who, for some reason or other,
have like Rackhir been exiled to this plane, along with various demons who come
and go. The two are attacked by several such demons, sent by Yyrkoom. Elric
and his new friend defeat them with the aid of an old man named Nuin Who Knew
All.
Nuin is another one of those almost throwaway bits of invention that makes
Moorcock’s world so rich. Once he had been a foolish sage who wished to know
everything. He made a pact with Orland of the Staff, evidently a god of some
sort, and gained his wish. And ever since, he’s been trying to forget. He
remembers very little of what he once knew, and every time he uses a bit of
information it seems to fade from his mind; so he has hopes that someday he will
know nothing and be free to leave this plane. But he still knows enough to
recognize Elric’s name and to give him directions to find the Two Swords.

Elric and Rackhir make a perilous journey through and underneath a sinister
swamp, eventually ending up at the entrance to the Pulsing Cavern, a weird
chamber that seems to be composed of living flesh and which can only be entered
through a sphincter-like opening; (thank you very much for that imagery, Michael
Moorcock). Yyrkoon has preceded Elric here, but the two swords are suspended
over his head and he hasn’t yet figured out how to get them down.

It’s because the swords were waiting for Elric to show up. Well, maybe not
Elric specifically; just an opponent. The swords are sentient; and they’ve been
waiting millennia for a chance to fight. As soon as Elric enters the fleshly
chamber, one of the swords appears in his hand, and the other in
Yyrkoon’s.

The swords were singing. Their voices were faint but could be heard
quite plainly. Elric lifted the huge blade easily and turned it this way and
that, admiring its alien beauty.

‘Stormbringer,’ he said.

Then he felt afraid.

It was suddenly as if he had been born again and that this runesword was born
with him. It was as if they had never been separate.

‘Stormbringer.’

And the sword moaned sweetly and settled even more smoothly into his
grasp.

‘Stormbringer!’ yelled Elric and he leapt at his cousin.

The
battle which follows is fierce, because Elric deeply desires to kill his cousin,
and Yyrkoon fights back with no less fervor. But as the fight goes on, Elric
realizes that the sword wants to kill his opponent even more. The Black Swords
of Chaos feed off the souls of those they slay, and both Strombringer and
Mournblade are long overdue for a snack.

Elric realizes that he is not wielding the sword as much as he is following
the sword as it guides his arm. This kind of freaks him out, and he tries to
wrest control of the situation. He still wants to kill Yyrkoon, but not for the
sport of some demonic ironmongery.

But the sword has something to offer him as well. It feeds energy into
Elric’s arm, magical strength. All his life Elric has been dependent on drugs
to mitigate his feeble health and keep him alive. With Strombringer, he need
never be weak again. The only price would be that Elric would have to let it
feed.

This is not a price Elric likes; but he needs Stormbringer right now or else
it’s brother Mournblade will feed on his own soul and pass the energy on to his
enemy. He must accept the runeblade’s bargain.

‘You shall not be my master,’ Elric insists, and the sword seems to
acquiesce. Elric disarms his cousin, but refuses to slay him.

Elric said: ‘We are victims, cousin, of a conspiracy – a game
played by gods, demons and sentient swords. They wish one of us dead. I
suspect they wish you dead more than they wish me dead. And that is the reason
why I shall not slay you here.’

Now that the adrenaline has worn
off, and the sword lies quiet in his scabbard, Elric can feel some sympathy,
even pity for the pathetic wretch his cousin has become. But now both he and
Yyrkoon, joined now by Rackhir, who has promised to share Elric’s fate for good
or ill, are trapped in the Pulsing Cave.

Elric once more calls upon Aricoch. The Chaos Lord congratulates him on
winning the sword, but asks why he spared his cousin’s life.

‘Let us say he must remain alive in order to wake Cymoril,’ Elric replies.
Arioch smiles, and Elric realizes that the Chaos Lord was expecting him to
forget that little point. Elric goes on to request that his patron take him,
Yyrkoon and Rackhir back to Melniboné. Aricoch at first refuses; Rackhir is a
traitor as far as the Lords of Chaos are concerned, and has been exiled to this
realm as punishment. Elric insists: ‘He comes back with me… Or I do not take
the sword with me.’

This is a calculated gamble. Elric guesses that Aricoh wants the runeblade
returned to the mortal plane and that this can only be accomplished by a mortal
champion; that is why Elric has been manipulated into this situation.

‘You are clever, Elric of Melniboné… And you are a fitting servant of Chaos.”
Aricoch decides that punishing the Priest of Phum is not all that important
after all. He takes Elric and his companions back to Melniboné.

And what then? Elric has defeated the usurper, regained his throne and
rescued his love. Yyrkoon fulfills his agreement and releases his sister from
her enchantment. Elric has tamed the Black Sword of Chaos. He should live
happily ever after, right?

Yet Elric is still restless. He is not ready to sit back on the Ruby Throne.
He still wants to reform his country, and to that end he wants to spend a year
travelling to see the other nations and how they govern themselves. After a
year, he promises Cymoril, he will return and settle down. Is that his only
reason? Perhaps not, but if not he won’t admit it to himself. He asks if she
will accompany him and Rackhir on this new adventure, but she refuses.
Melniboné is her home.

But who will rule Melniboné in Elric’s absence? He suggests that Cymoril
rule as empress until he returns to marry her, but she refuses. Dyvin Tvar has
no desire for that kind of power. The most suitable candidate for regent,
ironically, is Yyrkoom. Elric believes that his cousin has learned humility,
and can be trusted with the position.

It will end badly; this the chronicle assures us. The actions Elric has
taken, even those with the best intentions, will lead irrevocably to doom, for
himself and for Melniboné. He still owes a debt to the Lord of Chaos; and the
sword he has gained isn’t nearly as tame as he thinks it is.

For the time being, however, he is ready to set out on a new adventure.

Monday, June 16, 2014

I met Jamie Delano online in 2002. He was gracious and kind to a newbie interviewer, and gave me two great interviews since. Also, I've often felt that he was a mentor, giving me help with creative ideas, and direction, when almost no one else cared or gave one single damn. So I definitely am biased here. I think Jamie is a great writer, and a better person. He writes dark stories, and the common thought about writers of darkness, is that they themselves are dark. But I can honestly say, Jamie is a source of light. He isn't superhero or god, just, a very good person in my estimation. This is an e-mail interview done over the span of a month, May 2014.

What recent/current cultural and world events have most influenced your creative work?

In
the sixty years of (more or less) sentience that I have (more or less)
enjoyed, the primary influence on my creativity has been in observing
the heroic resistance of human individuals to the madness collectively
wrought by their fellows. Wars, political ideologies, religious and
cultural icons have all provoked reaction from time to time – sometimes
inspiring, more often appalling – but it is some sick intrinsic need to
comprehend the curse of life, to make sense of the senseless and
celebrate the futility of our existence that keeps me writing.As an established writer, what led to you going the route of self or small publishing?

Most
likely it is early-onset dementia at the helm there. Never a natural
fit for me, I found myself increasingly awkward in the world of comics
writing. I had a generally good time and made some good friends there,
and count myself fortunate to have been able to make a moderate living
as a writer in that (or any) medium for a number of years. But nothing
lasts forever; my audience was increasingly ‘niche’ and the time
available to write the novels I’d always planned to seemed suddenly to
be shrinking fast. So I arsed around for a few more lazy years playing
poker and growing peyote, just to increase the pressure, and then
someone put a gun to my head and forced me to sit down in my loathed
study and write BOOK THIRTEEN. I was a bit shy about it when it was
finished, and it didn’t feel like a ‘Jamie Delano’ story, and I liked
the idea of designing the cover myself, editing myself batshit, and
spending considerable sums of my ill-gotten Hellblazer royalties to make
it available to a discerning few via my own imprint under a pen name.
In fact I liked it so much that – despite the fact that sales have
barely covered printing costs, let alone reimbursed me for the time
spent writing it – I decided to do it again with LEEPUS: DIZZY. I enjoy
writing prose and wish I had done more sooner; spending a year on a
manuscript, and then editing the text, making the cover and producing a
work which is all your own (and whose faults you can consequently blame
on no one but yourself) is very satisfying to me. It’s gratifying too
when a few people buy it and say that they like it, but – just as well –
the main pleasure for me is in the achievement, having a well-made
artifact to hold.

Where do you see publishing in general, now that you've taken this step?

It’s
all a bit confusing and I don’t pay all that much attention. The
self-publishing industry seems to have burgeoned exponentially; no one
now need feel precluded by anything but time and inclination from
writing and publishing their book. And that is a great and liberating
advancement. But the writers are rarely the ones being rewarded on any
financial level. The money is made in the servicing of this
technological opportunity; by the online ‘retail platforms’; the ‘Ten
Things You Absolutely Must Do to Sell Your Self-published Novel’
merchants, etc., etc.. It feels a bit exploitative – putative ‘literary
lions’ exploited as ‘content providers’ scrabbling for self-promotion.
All those 99 cent eBooks, giveaways, arbitrary price-reductions and
sock-puppet scandals -- I’m personally less and less inclined to go
there. I made eBook editions of BOOK THIRTEEN available via Amazon,
etc., while handling print editions direct, but if people want the new
one – digital or print – they’ll need to buy it from me personally, or a
bricks-and-mortar independent store that cares about the product. And
it’s likely BOOK THIRTEEN will be brought back in house in the next
month or so. Commercially suicidal? Maybe – but I’m happier trying to
write and produce books that offer satisfaction to the few readers that
may find their way to them than desperately blogging from dawn till dusk
to ‘sell myself’ and creep my title up the Amazon charts by a
hundred-thousand places. I guess I’m a writer who publishes his own
books, rather than a salesman who makes his own product. Call me
precious, I don’t care. That said, I do enjoy engaging directly with
readers and others via social media, in the same way that I enjoy
packaging a book when they buy it and taking it to the mail myself.

As
a creative writer myself I'd like to ask, what makes you write. Do you
write for the reward of money, or do you think, if you were to be a
very wealthy man otherwise you'd write nonetheless? I have to write. I
get antsy and bad dreams if I don't, but I know not everyone is the
same.

The Word is a virulent infection communicated by those
closest to us and, although well-meaning, already hopelessly corrupted.
The act of writing is torment and the outcome invariably disappointing –
all those monster babies, but we still keep going at it hoping the next
one will be perfect. To anyone who wants to make money out of writing
I’d suggest practicing blackmail letters as likely the most profitable
option. I write to scratch a personal psychic itch; I was lucky for a
number of years to be able to earn my living by that scratching via the
medium of comics – but I started writing poems and stories around the
age of twelve, and it wasn’t until I was twenty-seven that a friend
suggested comics might provide a financially rewarding outlet for my
compulsion. Whatever I write, I do it primarily to please myself. I’m
easily bored, and writing allows me to pass the time exploring my
imagination and trying to wrangle some kind of sense from the madness I
find there. When others also find my work pleasing and are willing to
pay to read it, I’m grateful. When they don’t, I’m disappointed, but I
rarely regret my approach, or wish I’d gone a different route with a
story. A thing goes how it goes; once I’m embarked on my
one-word-after-the-next journey the game is out of my control.

Is
there a model for self publishing or small publishing that you are able
to follow, or, have we reach a place in the landscape of publishing
that due to the collapse of normal markets and big publishing,
everything we do is new?

If there is a model for successful
self-publishing I’m not aware of it. My only plan is to write as well
as I’m able, and make books with as much care and attention as I can
muster in order to offer value and provide a pleasing artifact and a
satisfactory return to a reader on the investment of their intelligence,
time and money. I do my best to tell people they are available, but
not to the point of butting in on every public conversation shouting
‘Look at me, look at me – I wrote a book, so I’m amazing and clever and
you’re a fool if you don’t see that and want to buy it.’ (Although all
that is undoubtedly true)

Do you foresee a better reward for writers in the future due to self
publishing, or did the financial world and collapse of most print strip
mine the reward aspect of writing for most people?

A few may get
wealthy, if that is their aim, but the vast majority will not. It was
ever thus. The only good reason to write stuff is to get better at
doing it. Writing is largely a legacy activity. Do it to leave
something worthwhile behind. That said, as Leepus (the lead in my
latest novel) opines from time to time: “Even idiots sometimes get
lucky.” – so never abandon hope of a random payday.How do you
balance the need for financial profit with releasing your creative
energy for others to enjoy? If you were so wealthy you could do
anything including lounge about the patio or play poker, would you
bother to write?

There’d be no point to being wealthy if it did
not offer the liberty to write – other, of course, than funding the
buy-ins to higher-stakes poker tourneys than I’m at present able to
risk.

Currently I’m in the fortunate position of enjoying an
inexpensive lifestyle, with the years ahead that will need financing
diminishing with reassuring speed. I have no expensive lovers, or
outlandish drug-habits to maintain; my house is paid for and my children
are generally self-sufficient; I receive the odd royalty payment in
recognition of past labours; and the recent increase in the age at which
UK females may claim their state pension means that my partner, Sue,
will earn a regular wage for the next six years at least. So I can
indulge my word addiction for a while undistracted by the threat of
bailiffs. I plan to exploit the situation while it lasts.

What
market beasts are the hardest for a self publisher or small publisher to
face? What are the best weapons for them to strike down said beasts?

The
need to find readers constantly conflicts with the need to write stuff
with which to feed them. My only weapon is a desire to write as well as
I can and a naive faith that the effort will be serendipiditously
rewarded. So I’m doubtless doomed to die unknown and a pauper. Oh well –
c’est la guerre, as the fighting French say.If your small press
does well, will you publish others? If so, how will you choose from
the myriad of choices, and friends with scripts that are deserving?

It was my initial intention that Lepus Books would be no more than a
platform to give an identity to my own prose fiction, however I have
started to adjust that model, publishing Kiss My ASBO by Alistair Fruish
in the autumn of last year. I vaguely see a future role as publisher
of last resort for work that I find intriguing by people who I like.
Sometime in 2014 we will also offer a memoir of a woman growing up
lesbian in 1970s/80s middle England – so we’re not restricting ourselves
to fiction, although that will probably provide the bulk of future
content. Lepus Books has a minimal bankroll, and does not seek to make
profit from publishing the work of writers other than myself. We act
solely as a resource by which to ease getting a book into print and a
platform through which potential readers can interact direct with an
author, whose sole responsibility it is to manage and honour orders.
Lack of time, energy and finance dictates that, at this time,
unsolicited manuscripts cannot be considered and new works will, for the
foreseeable future, be adopted only by invitation and at my dictatorial
whim. I vaguely fantasise about expanding this model into a network of
similar author/publisher independents who might coalesce into a
cooperative network of writers and potential readers divorced from the
churning madness of Amazon, etc. But I’m not a natural entrepreneur, so
anyone with the skill and inclination should feel free to take over the
lead.Do you have sequential story telling left to do? What kind of comic stories are left to tell?

Yes,
I’m pretty sure I still have sequential scripts in me. Despite its
stagnant backwaters the medium remains vital and there are millions of
stories to tell – everybody breathing lives at least one. It’s
summoning the energy to keep dipping into that seething pot of tragedy,
pathos and humour that’s the problem. And a novel is an easier (and
more self-absorbing) prospect when one is flying solo, without any
artistic talent, or either the funds or sheer brass neck to lure an
artist into collaboration on no more than a promise. I’ve no idea what
type of story I might produce, though; but it seems likely it won’t
feature superheroes or suit the mainstream.

Do you believe that the world populace reads less, or do you think the
transition from print has made it hard to measure how much anyone reads?

The
global population is increasing exponentially, so, even if a smaller
percentage of humans are regular readers, it stands to reason there’ll
still be plenty. Question is what will they be reading, and where. It
seems likely more is done onscreen now, via the Internet or devices,
than by way of the printed page. And I sometimes wonder if – as with
the net mitigating an individual’s need to actually know stuff, rather
than merely knowing how to access required information – the easy
availability of vast tracts of media generally means that more people
collect it than actually read it. Assembling resources can get to be a
compulsion, become an end in its own right. You can have the Library of
Alexandria on an eReader in your pocket but, unless those volumes are
actually accessed and their texts considered, a few well-thumbed books
on a kid’s bedroom shelf is a lot more significant. What the literary
world needs is much more general boredom. When I was a child I read the
clock round because, as a suburban kid in dreary 1950s/60s England,
with only one crappy TV channel, who wasn’t big on sport, vandalising
public amenities, or raking the dead leaves from the garden at the
insistence of a Philistine father, I was left with only bike-riding,
fishing or books to pass the endless fucking black and white hours. The
bike was handy to get to the river (out of earshot of the irritating
father), and fishing was okay in allowing space for the imagination to
wander – a catch was fortunately a rare distraction – but books were
where the cool and intriguing shit really happened. If I’d had an Xbox
or YouTube handy, though, things might have been somewhat different.When
in the midst of writing a story is it mostly written just needing to be
typed, or, do you write the story as much during the typing out as
before starting?

I usually have nothing much more than a vague
idea of character and scenario when I force myself to boot up the PC and
confront that blank-screen terror. My ‘thinking’ is largely done on
the keyboard, as I make stuff up as I plod along, one word after
another, trying to follow an elusive scent into an indistinct future.
The story is hidden in the journey; I usually don’t see it until I get
to the end. For the first third at least of a comic script or a book, I
invariably go back to the beginning each day, editing text and
adjusting rhythm, shifting punctuation minutely and looking for missed
clues to the trail ahead. Eventually I’m content enough to revisit only
the preceeding day’s chapter until I reach a conclusion. And then the
real writing work begins.

Re-write, re-write, re-write until you’re
sick of the sound of your own fucking voice, then rewrite again and once
more. Only when there is no time or sanity left in which to
procrastinate further should one publish and be damned. It’s a
misunderstanding shared by many non-writers, to assume that writing is
no more than blurting a plot out onto a page, an act of endurance only.
Guy’s, what you have there is a first draft, sometimes hardly more than
a synopsis, a rough-hewn chunk of rock; you need chip away at it for
half-a-fuckin’-lifetime more before you appreciate its perfect form and
hear its music. Writing is hell and a mug’s game. You run the risk of
going stone crazy convincing yourself it’s important; you may just
vanish up your own arse. It’s a dangerous sport you’re flirting with,
worse than taking drugs, or parkour; so don’t join if you can’t take a
joke.

You'd likely wish to punch me in the ovaries if I didn't ask a question
or two about the books that your small press has sprung up to share.
Tell us about Leepus, where it can be bought, and what part of your dark dark soul did it spring from. Fear? Anger? GWBush?

My
first novel, BOOK THIRTEEN by A. William James aka Jamie Delano, was
published in 2012. While in no way autobiographical, it arises from the
travails of an aging and superstitious pulp fiction writer struggling
to overcome a long-term block and the distractions of a large and
ramshackle family to complete the final work in a series of fictions
featuring a character called Leepus.

LEEPUS: DIZZY (2014) – which
I occasionally think of as a graphic novel for which the reader must
provide their own pictures – is set in the near-future alternate reality
of Inglund. The ‘Leepus’ featured therein is likely not the fictional
character created by The Old Writer of BOOK THIRTEEN, but the suspicion
that the two are connected by some contorted skein of madness in the
depths of imaginary space should not be disregarded. Who knows where
this shit comes from, or why I feel moved to write it down; but the
words of my old mum are often present in my head saying: “Better out
than in, son.’ DIZZY is fast-paced, dark, funny, a bit trippy,
occasionally violent, and has some libertarian fun with language. I’m
pleased enough by how it turned out to seriously consider calling it the
first of an ongoing series.

I won’t bore readers here with
lengthy exposition; suffice it to say that those interested can download
sample chapters of both BOOK THIRTEEN and LEEPUS: DIZZY via the Lepus
Books website, www.lepusbooks.co.uk , by which means they can also
purchase print and digital editions direct from the author/publisher,
thus making him very grateful and incrementally enhancing his lifestyle.

The
third title currently offered by Lepus Books is Kiss MY ASBO by
Alistair Fruish, a debut novel recommended by many who know shit from
Shinola, and which I personally endorse through being its publisher of
last resort.

As I've asked many people, in interview, what do
you find horrifying, and how do you translate your own fears into books
that scare other people? Is there a catharsis of fear release?

Fear
is the constant companion of any halfway intelligent organism abroad
and vulnerable to tooth and claw aboard our planetary spaceship as it
spins dizzy through the icy vastness of godless infinity. Tangling that
human terror in fiction has always seemed to me some small, if futile,
mitigation of the dire threat to health and wellbeing of those I love
posed by careless Fate. Naming the monster offers a slightly improved
chance of magically defending against its assault. Tell the
readers of this how to find you, where to find your press, and what you
hope happens with your company in the next five years?

My vague
intention is that Lepus Books will continue to publish works by myself
and others whose work appeals to my idiosyncratic taste but which may
not fill a conventional publisher with confidence of profit. But please
note – our resources are currently tiny and I am thus unable to
consider unsolicited manuscripts.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Michael Moorcock intended Elric to be sort of like the Anti-Conan; where most traditional Heroic Fantasy featured Beefy Barbarians slaying Evil Wizards, Elric was a nerdy wizard who got to kick the snot out of the barbarians.

At first, Elric does seem to be something of a wimp. Weak and sickly as a child, and dependent on exotic drugs to maintain his spark of life, the albino with bone-white skin grew into a bookish lad. His years of study have caused him to question the Traditional Values of cruelty and hedonism practiced by his ancestors, the Dragon Lords of Melniboné.

It is for these reasons that his cousin, Prince Yyrkoon, thinks that Elric's a poor ruler and wants to replace him; and it is for these reasons that, as Elric lies exhausted and weak after a sea-battle against barbarian raiders and when no one is looking, Yyrkoon chucks his cousin overboard.

As he sinks beneath the waves, weighted down by his armor and too weak to struggle to the surface, it occurs to Elric that Yyrkoon might have a point; that Melniboné might be better off with back-stabbing thug sitting on the kingdom’s Ruby Throne than with a conscience-ridden scholar; someone who would better embody the ethos which has governed Melniboné for over ten thousand years. For that matter, the troubled, tortured Elric might be better off dead as well. The only ones who would mourn his passing, would be his friend Dyvin Tvar, Keeper of the Dragon Caves, and of course the woman he loves, Yyrkoon’s sister Cymoril.

As the cold darkness engulfs him, another thought comes to him; an old, old spell which his ancestors had once used to invoke Straasha, the Lord of the Water Elementals, flits through his mind. Elric has eschewed sorcery, but magic is an ancient tradition among the Dragon Lords, mostly involving the summoning of spirits, demons and other supernatural creatures; the incantation, like an old nursery rhyme he might have heard as a child, flits through his mind.

Elric thinks he’s dreaming. He protests that he is resigned to his fate and wants nothing more than to die; but Straasha tells him if that were the case then the invocation would not have called him. Some small part of Elric’s consciousness must have desired life with an intensity strong enough to overcome death. Again he asks Elric what boon he would seek.

Still certain he is hallucinating, Elric says that the only aid he would ask for is to be returned to Melniboné so that he can deal with Yyrkoon and save Cymoril form the torments her brother is sure to inflict upon her. But he doesn’t really believe it will happen. He knows he is as good as dead.You cannot die. Not yet. Straasha assures him, and takes Elric to a place where he can rest. The world is on the verge of a new age, Strassha tells him, and the Lords of the Higher Realms are again taking an interest in the mortal world. He advises Elric that he will be happier if he gives himself up to his destiny, once he understands it; and that he should not hesitate to call upon the other elemental spirits at need, nor upon the beasts. But beware of gods, Elric. Beware the Lords of the Higher Worlds and remember that their aid and their gifts must always be paid for.

Yyrkoon, meanwhile, is having a really good day. He triumphantly announces that, Elric having died in battle, he is the new emperor. His sister, Cymoril, guesses the truth, and commands her escort of palace guards to kill Yyrkoon for his treason. One of her guards tries to obey, but he is cut down by the captain of the guard, who knows upon which side his bread is buttered. “My loyalty is to the Ruby Throne,” the captain tells the new emperor. That’s fine with Yyrkoon.

Yyrkoon continues on to the imperial palace, but when he enters the throne room, he sees someone sitting in his chair.

“You are dead, Elric! I know that you are dead!” But no, Elric is quite alive; and Yyrkoon finds himself surrounded by Dyvin Tvar’s men, who are more than happy to take him into custody.

In the past, Yyrkoon has criticized Elric for being far to clement and for disdaining the Melnibonéan tradition of gratuitous cruelty. With grim pleasure, Elric tells him that has decided to take Yyrkoom's advice; he thinks of something both humiliating and sadistically appropriate for his treasonous cousin.

Cymoril urges Elric to just kill the creep; she’s afraid that given time, her brother will regroup and cook up some counter-intrigue; but Elric is confident that he has pulled Yyrkoom’s fangs. He plans on exiling his cousin to some distant barbarian kingdom.

He never gets the chance. Yyrkoom still has followers loyal to him, and he’s been practicing sorcery of his own. Elric is aware of the prince’s experiments in magic; Yyrkoom has been trying to summon the Lords of Chaos in order to gain the legendary two Black Swords of Chaos. But he has been unsuccessful in that endeavor, and Elric has discounted Yyrkoom’s sorcerous abilities. Yyrkoom creates a groaning mist, a weird miasma that carries ghostly voices which play mind games on its victims and disorients them. Under the cover of the groaning mist, Yyrkoom is able to abduct Cymoril and flee the city with a group of supporters.

Elric attempts to locate Yyrkoom, but the wily prince has covered his tracks too well. Elric sends ships out in all directions, searching all the nearby islands, to no avail. As he waits, brooding in his palace, Elric buries himself in his father’s library, trying to find lore which might help him recover his love. For several months, his ships search, but return home empty; no report has been found of Yyrkoom. Elric decides to take drastic measures.

He has studied the oldest and most obscure books of magic in his father’s library; he has carefully considered every contingency; he has prepared as well as humanly possible; and now he is ready to attempt his only hope. He is going to try what Yyrkoom could never achieve; to summon Arioch, the Lord of Chaos. Did he remember Straasha’s warnings about the Lords of the Higher Worlds? Maybe; but Elric is out of options.

Arioch does appear, first in the form of a small, buzzing fly, and then as a tall, handsome youth.

The youth was taller, now, than Elric. He looked down at the Emperor of Melniboné and he smiled the smile that the fly had smiled. “You alone are fit to serve Arioch. It is long since I was invited to this plane, but now that I am here I shall aid you, Elric. I shall be your patron. I shall protect you and give you strength and the source of strength, though master I be and slave you be.”

This has “Bad Deal” written all over it, and Elric hesitates; but Arioch tells him he cannot help Elric find Yyrkoom and save Cymoril unless Elric first swears to serve him. Elric swears, and finds himself filled with ecstatic fire and a strength he’s never known.

Arioch tells him where his cousin can be found: in a barbarian land to the south where he has conquered two neighboring countries called Oin and Yu. Yyrkoon has also gained possession of the Mirror of Memory, a magical device which drains the memories of any who look in into it. That is how he has managed to obliterate all traces of himself. Arioch also advises Elric on the best way to reach his cousin: with the Ship Which Sails Over Both Land and Sea.

Elric again summons the Lord of the Water Elementals. It’s harder this time, because he does not have the benefit of a near-death experience to concentrate his attention. Straasha is not terribly happy about Elric’s summoning the Lords of Chaos back to this plane, but understands that he was fated to do so. As it happens, the Ship Arioch spoke of belongs to Straasha. Well, it used to belong to him and his brother King Glome of the Earth Elementals, but the two of them quarreled eons ago. Straasha got the Ship, but Glome was never happy about it. With reluctance, Straasha grants Elric use of the Ship.

Elric and his friend Dyvin Tvar prepare an expeditionary force including several war veterans with a “special disability”, which the narration does not at first specify, but which the astute reader can probably guess. They board the magical ship and damned if the blessed thing doesn’t sail over land just as smoothly as if it were sailing over water. But before they get too far, the land begins to quake and rock as if it were an ocean in a storm. The elementals of the earth are taking umbrage. Elric makes for the sea by the shortest route to avoid more trouble.

Sailing south, they reach the city of Dhoz-Kam, capitol of the lands of Oin and Yu, and find that the Mirror is waiting for them. It’s huge and has been set on two enormous pillars at the entrance to the harbor so that no ship can enter without its crew looking upon its baneful surface. No ocean-going ship, that is. Since Elric’s ship can sail over Land as well as Sea, he can circle around and approach the city from the rear.

But hardly do they strike the coast than the earth begins rebelling against the ship again, rocking and buffeting it like waves in a hurricane. Three of Elric’s men are killed by the pitching of the ship. Finally Elric realizes he must speak directly to Glome to try and placate him.

King Glome is not in a conciliatory mood. As far as he’s concerned, the Ship Which Sails Over Both Land And Sea rightfully belongs to him. After much pleading, Glome finally consents to let them pass, requesting only the bodies of the men already slain to be buried in the earth as tribute. But the Ship may nevermore travel over his domains; henceforth it may only travel over the water. Glome allows Elric to pilot the ship to a nearby lake. There it will stay.

Without the ship, Elric will have to attack Yyrkoon’s city on foot. He will need more help.NEXT: Siege of Dhoz-Kam; the Mirror of Memory; Yyrkoom’s Desperate Flight and the Two Black Swords!

Chuck, how did you decide the concept
of the original story because at the moment we are all being torrentially flooded
by Global WARMING fears?

Is this simply a story, or is it a
metaphor?

This story is
escapist fare and nothing else. Though I certainly have a bit of fun with
'climate change' as we are told to call it now. At the time Winterworld was conceived,
the consensus among professional alarmist was that we were looking forward to a
new ice age.

All other
considerations aside, when I saw Jorge Zaffino's work I knew I wanted to write
for him. A post-apocalyptic thing was the first idea that leapt to mind. Some
kind of desperate characters struggling in a hostile world. Jorge's art determined
that in my mind. A world of violent weather and bitter cold intrigued me and
so...

Returning to the sequel in WW the collection,
and now this, how do you view the world you are developing, does it have
endless story lines to develop, or, with it being a frozen world with limited human
life, do you risk retelling the same story, over and over?

There's always that
risk. But this is really Scully and Wynn's story. I think their relationship is
unusual enough that readers want to see what happens to them next, to see if
they make it. And it's not really about the brutal environment they live in as
much as the other survivors they meet. The freezing temperatures and scant
resources provide a background tension to cast the drama against.

The artist on this new story/series is
Butch Guice. Yet, he manages to brilliantly capture the best of Jorge
Zaffino. Was that a requirement going forward, or was that simply an
artistic decision he made?

Butch isn't aping
Jorge (aside from some clever homages). The two guys are in the same
wheelhouse. They even have similar personalities. Butch shares Jorge's ability
to draw believable natural environments as well as REALLY nasty people. He
throws in the background details that make it seem real and isn't afraid to
pull the "camera" way back to show us the awesome scale of this
world. As Butch said to me when I invited to join us for this first arc,
"You had me at 'lots of negative space.'"

Is the book a limited series? How
far out have you written the stories for it?

It's an ongoing
monthly and I've already scripted the entire first year.

Why IDW? Do they have an
inheritance of style or interest that is similar to Eclipse the original
publisher?

On the nose. IDW is
like the child of Eclipse Comics in a lot of ways. Ted Adams was an intern at
Eclipse when I met him years ago. I see IDW applying Dean Mullaney's marketing
ideas all the time. Their approach to creators is the same; hands off and
encouraging and always a fair deal. We're also partners in this venture as we move
along with the arrangement we've made with X-Box to make Winterworld a live-action television event.

A television event? Tell us more
about that?

At this point I don't
have much I can or am allowed to say. It will be an eight episode live action
event with a high per-episode budget. IDW will be acting as creative partner.

Were there books that stimulated your
interest in telling a winter tale? Maybe HP Lovecraft's Mountains of
Madness or John Christopher's The Long Winter... or any number of military
stories set on the Eastern Front WWII or The Winter War between Soviets and
Finland?

All great things to
reference. But I think a few endless Pennsylvania winters were enough. I lived
very remote for a few years in PA. Did my share of chopping and hauling
firewood in knee-deep snow.

Who would you choose to play Scully, who
would you choose to play Wynn in an unlimited budget film, and you can raise
any actor or actress from the dead if you need to...?

I hate the casting
game. But...a younger Nick Nolte for Scully. I put his age around forty. And
there's rafts of young actresses who could play Wynn.

What is the coldest you've ever been?
How can you express that kind of pain, discomfort, in sequential form?

I was camping on a
mountainside in Pennsylvania. Most mountains in PA are sheltered, covered with
forest. This one was totally denuded by a forest fire a few years before. It
was July and I'd only brought a blanket to sleep under. That night the
temperature dropped dramatically and the cold thermals whipped up the mountain
from the river valley below. What I found out then was it's not so much HOW
cold you get it's for how LONG you stay that way. I thought I'd never get warm
again. I stress in Winterworld that the cold is ALWAYS there.

I've been known to bitch about Minnesota's
weather, a lot even. But then I was thinking about moving even further N
to avoid, well, people. That cold and isolation wears upon a soul, and
expeditions to the poles dealt with mental as well as physical harm. How
do the survivors of the Ice age keep hope being so isolated and having so little to give them warmth, food, or anything comforting. Would your Winterworld be comprised entirely of victims, or as in many cases during social
chaos, are there some who thrive upon the suffering?

You? Bitch about the
cold? Scully and Wynn stay on the move. They are, ostensibly, looking for
Wynn's parents. Scully is trying to take her home. The suspense comes from the
hostile environment where everything can kill you and the deadliest aspect is
want. And there are certainly those who prey, some literally, on the helpless.

Have you plotted the story out in general
to have an idea where you want to end? Or do you let the stories tell you when
they are done?

I have an end in mind
but I'm hoping it's a long way off.

As well as the main story, do you have any
short stories and different or new characters to build the layers of the world.
Do you perhaps even show glimpses of the world prior to the freeze, and
who did what to whom?

We will NEVER show
the world before the event that froze it over. In fact, no one in these
stories was alive when this happened. And HOW it happened is all supposition
though we will be exploring some possible explanations. After all, man is
always driven to try and explain his world.

I have to think the Russians have a
buttload of winter weather prepared warriors, Finns and Norwegians, Swedes and
Canucks too. Did some small remnants of order in those countries survive, are they the promised
land? Or does order in such a world automatically mean a bunch of instant
Hitlers?

Toward the end of the
year's continuity we will glimpse evidence of a more ordered effort to maintain
a civilization. It doesn't take the form you suggest. It's far more insidious.

Damn. I can't wait til then to
learn the answer.

How much of this is fantasy/sci fi, and how much is based upon the reality that
when humans outgrow outstretch their resources, they become far closer to
bestial?

There's no fantasy
elements whatsoever. There are touches of SF as it's set somewhat in the
future. For the most part it's a survival tale where the odds are
always life and death.

And taking a turn from Lord of the Flies,
given human nature, why is Scully good? Why does he keep trying in a world where might makes things right?

Scully is an
interesting character. He's always done what he had to do to make it to the
next day no matter what the cost. When he runs into Wynn that all changes. Now
he has someone besides himself to worry about. She's given him a purpose in
life beyond the grind of existence.

Entropy will be the end of us, eventually,
but who would survive, the scientists? The warriors? People with true
faith in some movement or belief?

Well, my stories
might lead you believe that mankind will take a giant leap backwards in order
to make it through.

Friday, June 6, 2014

“The Battle of Normandy begins. D-Day, code named Operation Overlord,
commences with the landing of 155,000 Allied troops on the beaches of
Normandy in France. The allied soldiers quickly break through the
Atlantic Wall and push inland in the largest amphibious military
operation in history.” Source Wikipedia

Yes, that sounds much
easier than it was. But today is to take a moment and remember the
events from 70 years ago that changed the course of events… Prior to the
battle beginning General Dwight D. Eisenhower shared this message with
the invasion force…

“Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! You are
about to embark upon a great crusade, toward which we have striven
these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and
prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you. In company
with our brave Allies and brothers in arms on other fronts, you will
bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination
of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for
ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened, he will fight savagely.

But
this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of
1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our air offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the
ground. Our home fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in
weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves
of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world
are marching together to victory!

I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!

Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessings of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.”

The invasion of the
beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944 was not a guaranteed success. The
Allied forces, consisting of Americans, Canadians, British, and even New Zealanders, plus
an assortment of contingents from the countries that had been overrun by Nazi
and Axis forces, Czechs, Belgians, French, Greeks, Dutch, Norwegians, Poles and
more faced significant risks in the invasion.
While the notion to assume an event was bound to succeed because, well
frankly, it actually did succeed, is easy to do, but that is an error. The many variables regarding the event cannot
be replayed, without risk of assumption.
The weather was bad, but the outlook was for worse weather on either
side of the days of invasion. The German
generals in charge of the defense of Normandy were not at or near the front, or
were they in their headquarters, due to weather and lack of belief over the
date of June 6th being the date of invasion. Everyone in Nazi Germany knew that the
Allies would be attacking the continent. It was just a matter of when.

And
where? The invasion as it happened was south of where the Nazis assumed the
invasion would happen. The Pas-de-Calais was the closest site to the UK, and it
was a port ready for ships. It would
have made a great deal of sense for it to be there that the first battle of the
retaking of continental occurred. Which
is, of course, why the beaches of Normandy were chosen. Hitler overslept, sleeping for 4 hours or more beyond the invasions beginning points when quick responses were necessary but impossible to receive from the Nazi leader. Should he have awakened at 8 a.m. with a stiff neck or woke early looking for a morning snack and was known to be awake by his staff, the entire battle and campaign could have been different.

If the war were to
play out again, any number of variables could have meant that the Normandy
Invasion was a catastrophe. And should
that have happened, it is painful to consider Europe without the 1944
landings. Would the Soviets have been
able to continue their drive west if the Allies had stalled on the
beaches? Would the Second Front in
France happen at all, or would the Nazis then be able to push any further
attempts back? It is fair to consider a world much changed if the following
message had to be broadcast as written by General Eisenhower…

"Our
landings in the Cherbourg-Havre area have failed to gain a satisfactory
foothold and I have withdrawn the troops. My decision to attack at this time
and place was based upon the best information available. The troops, the air
and the Navy did all that Bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame
or fault attaches to the attempt it is mine alone."

The battles of the Normandy invasion were brutal, bloody, epic and decisive. Without the combination of preparation, intelligence, skill, daring and luck, the day could have become a blackened date upon the future calendar of western civilization. Today marks the 70th
Anniversary of the event of the D-Day invasion. I offer these movies, books,
games and comics for the reader to further consider the event.

MOVIES

The Longest Day
Saving Private Ryan
The Big Red One
D-Day 6th of June (a very very bad film)
Band of Brothers

The Big Red One and Band of Brothers are both certainly good enough films, but do not focus primarily upon D-Day but rather how D-Day played a part in the life of the units involved. Also, these five movies are from a mostly American perspective, despite allowing various views from the point of view of both associated allies and enemy units.

The games that feature D-Day except for the board game are generally speaking not directly about D-Day except as part of the overall story. The board game on the other hand allows for a recreation of the event using war game gaming mechanics.

BOOKS

The Longest Day by Cornelius Ryan
Life: D-Day 70 years Later
D-Day by Antony Beevor
D-Day by Stephen Ambrose

Non fiction and fiction has covered D-Day rather well. It would not be hard to find a good lot of books and be buried under facts and figures. The four books included here are perfect for a human view of the battle, as well as pictorial evidence of the event.

COMICS

The Tide Turns
Normandy
D-Day: Fight or Die

In comic form the UK and Europe have covered Normandy, and most of the wars of humanity in far greater detail and breadth of coverage than the US. Enclosed are three worthy candidates for a sequential consideration of the event.